


Wounds Without a Bandage

by GotTheSilver



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Getting Together, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:22:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26686606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GotTheSilver/pseuds/GotTheSilver
Summary: Tony burrows deeper in his blankets, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to forget the last year. Taking control of Stark Industries was one thing, even if it had been a shock to Obie and the rest of the board when Tony came of age and started dispensing of all his dad’s old cronies, but SI’s exploration team actually finding Steve? Tony deciding Steve should come live with him? Tony has regrets.Well.He has regrets this morning.Before last night, the most Tony regretted in relation to Steve was not jumping him the moment it became clear all his faculties were intact and that Tony hadn’t defrosted a brain dead Captain America.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 42
Kudos: 331
Collections: Hurt/Comfort Bingo - Round 11, POTS (18+) Twink Tony Bingo 2020





	Wounds Without a Bandage

**Author's Note:**

> in this, Steve was found after Howard & Maria died, but before Tony took over SI.
> 
> fill for the PoTS twink Tony bingo: whump square
> 
> also a fill for my hurt/comfort bingo: fighting square
> 
> implications of drug abuse, binge drinking, general self abusive behaviour.

Tony’s woken up by the door to his bedroom opening. He tries to lift his head, but gives up quickly, closing his eyes again against the thumping headache rattling around his brain.

“Tony?”

Fuck. There’s a sudden flashback to the night before, the fight he got into at a bar downtown, the vomit splashing against the sidewalk, and the newly defrosted Captain America right there to witness everything. Tony’s pretty sure Steve carried him home. He hopes he didn't puke on him.

“I know you’re awake,” Steve says. Tony feels the bed shift as Steve perches on the mattress. “Tony—”

“No.”

There’s silence from Steve and then—.

“Do you remember anything from last night?”

Tony burrows deeper in his blankets, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to forget the last year. Taking control of Stark Industries was one thing, even if it had been a shock to Obie and the rest of the board when Tony came of age and started dispensing of all his dad’s old cronies, but SI’s exploration team actually finding Steve? Tony deciding Steve should come live with him? Tony has regrets.

Well.

He has regrets this morning.

Before last night, the most Tony regretted in relation to Steve was not jumping him the moment it became clear all his faculties were intact and that Tony hadn’t defrosted a brain dead Captain America.

But now—Tony can’t even believe Steve’s still here. Then again, maybe Steve just wanted to make sure Tony didn’t die in his sleep after last night, and is here to tell Tony he’s leaving.

Tony wouldn’t be surprised.

“What can I do?” Steve asks, his hand tentatively brushing over Tony’s shoulder. “Tony—”

“It’s fine,” Tony says, his voice rough. “You don’t—”

“I didn’t realise it was today,” Steve says in a rush. “The anniversary, I mean. I’ve been so caught up in the idea of spending Christmas with you that I—”

“S’not your fault,” Tony mumbles against his pillow. “Christmas is good.”

“Not if you’re so miserable you’re drinking yourself into a stupor.”

Tony snorts at that and rolls onto his back, wincing at the pull of his muscles. He’s sweaty and disgusting, can taste vomit in the back of his throat, and he wouldn’t be surprised if Steve ran screaming from him. “Twentieth century,” Tony says. “No one says stupor anymore, Cap.”

“What would you call it?”

“Blackout drunk,” Tony says. He rubs a hand over his face and lets out a hiss at the sudden pain. “That thudding in my brain isn’t just a hangover, is it?”

“No, you got hit pretty good last night,” Steve says, the corners of his mouth turning up in a soft smile. “Reminded me of me. Smaller me.”

“What every boy wants to hear.”

Steve’s face falls. “I didn’t mean it as—”

“No,” Tony interrupts. “Sorry. Ugh. Ignore me until I’ve had a gallon of coffee.” He stares up at the ceiling, contemplating what lies ahead for him. “Fuck, I hate this,” he says eventually. “Standing in front of cameras, talking about the Stark legacy as if I haven’t been actively trying to dismantle that legacy since you helped me find out what Obie was doing.”

“Tony—”

“You’d think they’d have had their fill of this by now, but no, five years later and I still have to go out there and talk about my dead parents. Talk about Howard, really. No one wants to hear about—” Tony’s voice cracks and he rolls back onto his side, using everything in his arsenal to stop himself from crying. “She was better than either of us, but no one wants to hear about her.”

“I wish I’d met her,” Steve says softly, his hand resting on Tony’s hip. “You could, if you want, tell me about her? Later?”

“I don’t want to do any of this,” Tony says, ignoring Steve’s question because he can’t think about talking about his mom to anyone, not today. “I don’t want to put on a suit, I don’t want to talk to reporters, I don’t want to talk about my dad, I don’t— _fuck_.”

“So don’t,” Steve says, and Tony’s sure he’s heard wrong.

“What?” Tony asks, suddenly going very still.

“Don’t do it.”

Tony pushes himself into a sitting position, his head screaming at him as he does, and he has to take in a few deep breaths to stop himself from puking. “I have to,” he says, looking at Steve.

“Do you?”

“Steve—”

“It’s been five years,” Steve says, a hint of anger in his voice. “You’ve said you’ve done this every year since they died, you don’t need to do it this year.”

“But they’ll all—” Tony cuts himself off and sighs before letting out a soft laugh. “You really don’t get how the media works in this era, do you?”

“You’d be surprised at how similar it is, actually,” Steve says with a small smile, reaching over and tapping Tony’s knee lightly. “You don’t have to perform for them, Tony.”

“Kind of do.”

“Not today. You don’t have to do it today. Not if you don’t want to.”

“And people thought I’d be the bad influence on you,” Tony says, running his hand over his hair. He winces when he touches what feels like dried vomit, and quickly drops his hand to his lap. “I don’t—I thought you’d leave,” Tony says quietly, looking down at his hands, seeing the cuts and bruises on them. “I’m a mess, Steve.”

“Why would I leave?”

“I puked on you, I yelled at you, I tried to hit you, and then you had to drag me away from the fight I did get into,” Tony rattles off before shrugging. “Take your pick.”

“You’re grieving,” Steve says. “After Bucky died I sat in a bombed out bar and drained whatever was left and found out I couldn’t get drunk. If I’d been able to, then—” Steve pauses, his fingers tracing a pattern along Tony’s leg over the blankets. “I don’t know what would’ve happened.”

“You— _fuck_ ,” Tony grunts as the blankets twisted around his ribcage tug too tightly against his bruised skin. “Shit,” he says, taking in a sharp breath as he detangles himself from the blankets, forgetting that he’s naked underneath them. When he looks up, Steve’s very carefully not looking down, a light flush across his face, and that reaction almost makes Tony’s headache vanish.

Pushing himself off the bed, Tony grabs a robe and wraps it around himself, loosely fastening it as he shifts from foot to foot, trying to see how steady he is. Judging himself to be okay, he yawns. “I’m going to shower,” he says. “And to clean the dead rat out of my mouth.”

“I’ll, uh, coffee?” Steve scrambles to get off the bed and looks Tony over, his gaze fixing on the slip of Tony’s skin exposed by the robe for a moment before he meets Tony’s eyes. “I’ll get you coffee.”

Tony nods before he slowly looks Steve up and down, noticing the subtle bulge in his sweatpants, and he tries to keep the wicked grin he’s feeling from creeping over his face. “Okay,” he says, noticing that the flush on Steve’s face has gotten darker. “I’d like that.”

*

The shower goes some way to clearing Tony’s head, but it doesn’t get rid of the bruises, and after he gets out he stands in front of the mirror looking at himself. There’s dark circles under his eyes along with a cut over his cheekbone and a quickly developing bruise. His lips are cracked, and he looks way too fucking old for the age he is. There’s bruises scattered across his torso, and every time he moves it hurts. He knows he’s got a whole drawer full of pills that would fix that up for him, but he’s trying not to use them and—.

His cut and bruised hands start shaking and Tony stumbles towards the bathroom counter, gripping the edge of it. Breathing deeply, Tony keeps his eyes open, trying to keep himself steady, and it’s—. He can do this. He can.

Fuck.

He didn’t realise how fucking tough this would be, and he really wasn’t planning on having a suddenly alive Captain America in his life at the same time as he’s been trying to reframe SI to do... something. Something better. Something _good_. Then again, if it weren’t for Steve, he might not have known about Obie’s double dealing, and he’d—. Well, Tony knows what he’d be doing instead, and a lot of it revolves around that little collection of pills in his bathroom drawer.

“Tony?” Steve’s voice comes through the door. “Are you okay?”

“Uh,” Tony coughs before grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his waist, trying to avoid the bruises as he tightens it. “Sure.”

“Tony.”

“It’s—” Tony pauses. “You can come in.”

The door opens slowly, and Steve sticks his head in like he’s not sure if Tony meant it. “Jesus, Tony,” he says when he looks at Tony’s chest, quickly walking in, the door closing behind him. “Have you—is there some cream I could—”

“I look that bad, huh?”

“You look in pain,” Steve says, stepping forward and catching Tony’s chin, gently tilting his face so Steve can see the bruise. “I don’t like it.”

“Not too fond of it myself,” Tony says quietly, enjoying the feel of Steve’s touch on his skin. “There’s a bottle in the top left hand drawer, it’s the only one with my real name on it.”

Steve nods, his eyes not betraying anything, and he drops his hand from Tony’s face before he takes the few steps and opens the drawer. “That’s a lot of pill bottles,” he says without judgement.

“Yep,” Tony says, listening to the bottles rattle in the drawer as Steve closes it again. “I might need you to hang onto them for me.”

“Whatever you need,” Steve says softly as he uncaps the bottle and tips two of the pills out into his hand. “Here, do you need water?”

Tony shakes his head and takes the pills, dry swallowing them. Making a face, he points at the cabinet next to the mirror. “If you really want to help, there’s a med kit in there.” He watches as Steve follows his directions, pulling down a bag that Tony knows is stuffed with creams and bandages and dressings. Tony’s patched himself up more often than he cares to think about, and he doesn’t really know what to think about the fact he’s going to let Steve do it.

It’s been a long time since he’s had someone take care of him. Been a long time since anyone has wanted to.

Steve ushers him out of the bathroom and nods towards the bed. Tony doesn’t immediately obey, though, instead stopping and dropping the towel on the floor before tugging a pair of cosy sweatpants on. When he turns around, Steve’s neck is flushed red, and Tony feels a weird flutter in his chest as he looks at him.

“You don’t have to do this,” Tony says as he climbs back on the bed. Steve’s stripped it while he’s been in the shower, the clean sheets smell like the fabric softener Steve uses on his clothes, and Tony wonders if they’re sheets from Steve’s room. The idea of Steve getting the clean bedding from his own room so that Tony wouldn’t have to face his own mess makes Tony’s chest ache. There’s a mug of coffee on the nightstand and Tony picks it up, savouring the warmth against his palms. “If you’re uncomfortable, then—”

“That’s not it,” Steve says, getting on the bed, the med kit next to him. Opening it, Steve rummages around until he finds some bruise cream, and he gestures for Tony to come closer. Tony takes a sip of the coffee before putting the mug back on the nightstand and inching closer to Steve. “You don’t make me uncomfortable,” Steve says as he starts to gently rub the cream on Tony’s face. “Not in the way you’re thinking.”

Tony swallows, trying not to move as Steve slowly works the cream into his skin. “Then how?”

“You know how,” Steve says, smoothing a finger along Tony’s cheek, rubbing the last of it in. “But I—” Steve drops his gaze and shakes his head. “I shouldn’t.”

“Right. Because I’m a mess.”

“What?” Steve looks back up, his brow furrowed. “No, Tony, it’s not about you. Not like that. You just—you’ve been through a lot, and I’m intruding on your life by being here—”

“No you’re not,” Tony interrupts. “You’re not intruding, you—” Tony makes a frustrated noise as he reaches out to grab onto Steve’s forearm. “Steve, you’re the only thing in my life that makes sense. If it weren’t for you, I’d be locked in the lab churning out weapons while Obie sold them to terrorists.”

“You would’ve figured it out,” Steve insists. “You would.”

“I would’ve let myself ignore it while I drank and snorted my way through life,” Tony says. “You’re giving me too much credit.”

“And you’re not giving yourself enough,” Steve says, setting his jaw stubbornly. “No one else even asked me what I wanted when I woke up, you—you let me live.”

“Not like I’m much of a role model,” Tony says with a shrug. “You deserve to make your own choices. Actually, if you want to leave then—”

“I don’t want to leave,” Steve says. “Tony, I want—”

“What?” Tony looks up at Steve, his face suddenly so close that all Tony would have to do is—. He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. But, fuck, he _wants_.

“This is a bad idea,” Steve says, his lips brushing over Tony’s mouth. “Tony, we—”

“Maybe,” Tony says, tongue darting out to swipe over Steve’s bottom lip. “But is it any worse than the other ideas I’ve had lately?”

Tony catches a glimpse of the smile on Steve’s face before, finally, their mouths meet in a soft kiss. It’s ridiculously innocent, the simple play of Steve’s mouth against his, but it’s got Tony’s head spinning in a way that’s got nothing to do with the fact he got hit last night.

“So,” Steve says when he breaks the kiss, one of his hands curving around Tony’s hip gently to avoid the bruises. “Here’s the plan. You’re going to call off the press conference, we’re going to get some food, and you can tell me about your mom. If you want.”

Tony nods, the hand on Steve’s forearm sliding down to tangle with Steve’s finger. “Yeah,” he says, squeezing Steve’s hand. “That sounds good.”

There’s all kinds of ways Steve could respond to that, but all he does is offer Tony a sweet smile and pull him in close, and Tony goes with it, letting Steve manhandle him until they’re curled up together on the bed. Steve’s hand is still tangled with his, and Tony shifts until he can press a kiss against the underside of Steve’s jaw before settling back down and resting his head against Steve’s chest.

“My mom’s name was Maria,” Tony starts, secure in the knowledge that Steve will be listening to every word he says. He kind of thinks he could get used to it.

**Author's Note:**

> fic post on [twitter](https://twitter.com/starstarked/status/1310338891921137666?s=20)
> 
> fic post on [tumblr](https://gotthesilver.tumblr.com/post/630450761877340160/fic-wounds-without-a-bandage-stevetony-teen)


End file.
